Imagine Dragons
by MysticSpiritus
Summary: In the red lantern district of Lindblum, a mage with a violin and beautiful voice captures the attention of the regency's first lady. Time to find out who owns the largest wand.
1. Chapter 1

_Mystic: I need to get out of the angst rut. Eh, consider this part drabble, part let's-see-how-sappy-I-can-get. Catch the Coldplay reference!_

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><p><strong>Imagine Dragons<strong>

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><p>The Lindblum night market held a vast variety of goods for both human and mage. One popular shoppe advertised in the red lantern district catered to the mature audience of desperate housewives and fornicating teenagers. Even a noblewoman like the lady Hilda required an identification card verifying her age and the capability not to break out in giggles at the sight of phallic objects. Consequently, most of the customers happened to be desperate housewives. (Hilda did acquire one "warning" infraction when she spotted a distinct phallic object in a very dark colour. She giggled for hours.)<p>

Besides the devices meant for a woman's pleasure, Lady Hilda treasured the performances. Singers, dancers, and musicians wandered throughout the market, tantalizing and teasing their audience. A select few of impressive talent acquired a private stage and, for the right price, any member of the audience could receive a private performance. For the most part, the lady preferred the sleek young men who danced or played sport. Their lean muscles glistened in oil and gave her the perfect environment to forget about her troubles. Which were many, sadly.

Never did she ask for a solo performance, but one violinist sorely tempted her. He was gentle and sweet with his music, young in his years, and moved with the smoothness of a mage. He always wore a mask about his face, but Hilda clearly saw a troubled soul in his eyes. More than once did she fight the urge to invite him for coffee, but always stopped herself for fear she'd end up making him breakfast in the morning.

Yes, she was that troubled. Very, very sadly.

Every other weekend the lady strolled through the night market, not appearing as her political self. She tossed aside modest attire and wore something a little daring, a tad risque. Hilda let her hair down and wore a bit of rouge; she raised her hemline and dusted her cleavage with glitter. If fate worked in her favor, that violinist might play her favourite hymn while she imbibed her cocktail.

Actually, no. Not her preferred word right now. Mixed drink.

This one particular evening found Lady Hilda standing before her mirror, wondering if her hair needed curled or straightened. She wasn't even fully dressed yet, stood around in her corset and garters. For her age, she still caught men's - and a few women - attention. Not the one man that mattered, as her spells kept her young and he was terrified of them. He aged, she did not, and their subjects gossiped until the morning dawn which was normally when Hilda returned from her endeavors. Her chosen dress for tonight was an off-the-shoulder number. Perhaps bouncy curls would be best appropriate.

Yet the mind drifted to that violinist again. He had beautiful hair; it lay down his back in a sea of silver and she was never quite sure if the shade was natural. Not that she cared, but just once did she want to run her fingers through the locks.

It wouldn't be completely inappropriate to hire a courtier. He could play privately in her chambers while a handmaiden stood watch to make sure nothing intimate took place. (Truth be known, Hilda had plenty enough gil to pay off the servant for her silence if anything _were_ to get horizontal.) If the regency hosted a ball, the courtier would be her escort and dance with her since the Regent was unable. Hilda's mind drifted to a pleasant daydream of a healthy young mage with silver hair and gentle features -

Wait.

No. Do not go there, madame.

She wasn't even sure if the _mage who shall not be named_ even played the violin, though his singing voice once made her swoon. Her wanderings in the Desert Palace were limited to the library, kitchen, or the outside greenhouse. For the sake of her mental clarity, Hilda refused to recall the private chamber in Mount Gulug. Or her chamber in the palace itself, or _his_ master chamber...

Ironically, _the mage who shall not be named_ had the warmest suite in the palace. Not that he didn't supply her with extra blankets and firewood for the hearth, but his fireplace was bigger than her own. It wasn't fair that his was bigger. (Good thing his kind didn't use wands.)

Bahamut's wings and Ifrit's horns. Now she was thinking about it. Lady Hilda sighed, shook her head, and reached for the hair pins. In less than an hour, she'd be out among the red lantern district; the special shoppe ordered a distinct phallic object in a very dark colour for her on her last visit. As the lady began to roll her blonde tresses, she felt a bit on edge, like her nerves were alert to someone outside. With her doors shut and curtains drawn closed, she still felt a pair of eyes roaming over her body.

No.

Tonight she'd drink a little bit, dance a little bit, then tomorrow morning devise a lesson plan to help Eiko with her arithmetic.

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><p><em>"And I, well, if I ever caused you trouble. Oh no, I never meant to do you harm."<em>

The Lady of Lindblum bit her lip and felt her face grow hot. Sweet Shiva and her icy ways.

That violinist was _singing_ too. It was music more applicable for a coffee house, but his voice stirred a fire in her lower belly. Any more of these thoughts and her wild spirit would leave her physical form and ride bareback on a chocobo to haunt the countryside. The fae folk called it a poltergasm.

_"Oh, no, I see. A spider web and it's me in the middle."_

A crimson incandescent glow filled one of the private stages, and against her better judgement, Hilda sat down at a table in the front row. There was something in that masked man's eyes, his expression, something the lady couldn't quite put her finger on. If possible, it'd involve far more than one finger. Ripping her gaze from his hidden face, she allowed herself to visibly explore his form. Lean muscles, oh yes, clearly masculine, but soft expressions and movements like the feminine. The enchantments of a mage were clearly there, but to how much she couldn't quite be sure.

Unless he masked more than his facial features.

A waitress offered her a drink, which she accepted, handing over a few gil. The alcohol relaxed her and she allowed herself to stare for pure fun. His chest was bare, his clothes were silk, and his backside made her very happy. Forget the bareback on a chocobo; this might require a grand dragon.

She blinked, but didn't tear her eyes away. It might have been an excuse to ogle him more, but as his lyrics drifted in and out of her head, Lady Hilda focused on his whole person. Gathering her chants, she breathed, attempting to fight her way through his casual spells. He was a powerful mage; she'd give him that much credit.

There. There it was. His true strength. Her eyes widened, and not due to the strength of her drink. Hidden beneath soft fabric and enchantments, visible most likely to other persons of high magic, was a furry, light-coloured tail.

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><p><strong>Mystic: I have a plot. Somewhere. I promise. Leave some feedback, please?<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

_Mystic: So I was poking around at my old fanfics with these two and I forgot how much I ripped off from the movie Lady Jane. And yes, Lady Hilda will be fae folk again in this fic. I love that background for her. _

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><p><strong>Everything I Do<strong>

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><p>The mage smiled beneath his mask when the audience applauded him. Eyes full of depth and troubled pasts sparkled as he took a sweeping bow. Lady Hilda herself clapped politely and stared straight at him, their eyes eventually meeting. That was when the angel and devil appeared on her (bare) shoulders. The devil certainly liked it and grinned ruthlessly. Her angel tried in vain to cover up the exposed flesh. Instead of good and evil silently bickering in her ear, one speaking of prudence and modesty, the other wanting to get down and physical like Ifrit at a canine arena, the opposite duo wrestled for her attention. Her consciousness grappled within itself.<p>

A tail. Why did there have to be a tail? Now the little devil began to whisper all sorts of naughty in her head.

"Might I join you, madame?" said the violinist. With his bare chest and silk clothes, the innocent angel lost the argument. Naughty devil performed a raunchy victory dance rivaling the professional dancers in the night market.

Hilda held out her hand for a kiss. "You may, sorcerer." When his lips paused at her knuckles, she smiled sweetly. "Many a mage masks their true power. I do as well."

"But thankfully not your beauty." He seamlessly sat across from her. "My condolences on your husband, madame."

"The regent yet lives."

"Doctor Tot reported to the public a very distressing prognosis."

"A couple of months," she admitted behind her drink. "I do what I can to give him comfort."

"There is no better physician on Gaia than a caring woman."

She blushed a healthy red. In close proximity to him, with his mind distracted by small talk, the lady was able to further explore the recesses of his aura. So strong, so nubile. Virile, almost. Dear Shiva, when he shifted forward in his chair, his shirt fluttered open almost down to his stomach. The image was more beautiful than the northern lights over Esto Gaza during the winter season. "May I buy you a drink?" she asked, against all better judgement.

He shook his head, silver hair wisping down. "Decorum would rather I buy you a refill on yours, madame."

"Please, sir. I insist."

That frumpy-dumpy angel gasped in horror.

"I'd prefer to play for you. Privately."

The naughty devil had to catch the fainting angel. He then carried her off to do something very badly, but very thoroughly. Hilda wanted to turn the mage down, but he played that violin better than the finest musicians in the regency. "I am still married." A proverbial raghnol in the room.

The mage leaned forward, grabbed her hands softly in his own. "My lady," he said, "it would be my honor."

Done deal.

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><p>Rooms meant for an exclusive show did not have a stage or harsh lighting. Individual patrons were treated to a dim decor, a curtain separating them from the outside commotion. Lady Hilda lit a few of the candles, used her chants to show off a touch. Proper behaviour gone for the moment, she relaxed comfortably on the cushions placed about the floor. In ancient days, senators or kings hosted meetings and meals in such similar surroundings. "Play my hymn for me," was her request.<p>

He joined her on the array of pillows, arranging them less like a lounge and more like a bed. "As you wish."

Oh, now that took her back to years gone by. Adventure, danger, true love, and bishop with a terrible speech impediment.

Instrument in hand, the mage began to play. It was a happy tune, regal and of the forest grove. Her people specialized in earth chants and good health. The women were strong, the men were handsome, and all of the children were above average. Elder folk governed and kept family records. Every generation or so, a fae of superior rank would specifically train in one other form of spell-casting beyond that of the earth. Lady Hilda chose transmutation.

In her youth, the lady had a small fascination -well, crush- on the impish man who turned straw into gil. Some say he existed, others laughed when she mentioned his name, but Hilda considered him her personal folk hero. A large spinning wheel quickly became her prized possession upon her thirteenth birthday. For several months, she built up callouses on her hands attempting the famous spell.

He continued to play, reclined with ease, legs semi-bent. There was no rule against touching, and he didn't mind at all when the lady placed her feet gently in his lap. Her grin rivaled farm girls whose parents were gone for the day. Many Dali adults were in attendance at the night market; most were regulars at the shoppe that catered to desperate housewives. At some point, Hilda would have to pick up that package.

Candlelight danced across her violinist's features, and she decided to wait awhile longer.

Once finished, the lady queried, "Do you dance?" Not that she didn't already suspect the answer.

"I do."

"Would you dance with me?"

"I am at your service, madame."

That mask needed to be ripped off and burnt to the ground. Hilda was more than capable, but wanted to toy with him just a bit more. The tail, the silver hair, _good grief the bare chest and stomach that beckoned to her because he was young and lithe_, ahem. The magic that rippled from him. Rippled like the bare chest and stomach _good gosh make it stop! _

"Before we dance -" Completely vertically. Absolutely vertically. "Would you be a sweetheart and order us a small meal?"

When he smiled in compliance, her stomach did a double flip beside her heart. "Hold my instrument?" he asked, and she burst in a fit of giggles.

"It would be my pleasure to hold your instrument."

The violin.

Anything else would be wrong.

(But oh so right.)

The mage stood, gave a polite bow, and that's when the lady gave a reach around. Well, perhaps not a complete reach around, but enough for anyone else to consider it a grope. She gripped the top of his slacks, held firm as he stood suddenly still. He wasn't stupid; any sharp movements might scare her off. "My lady," he breathed. Did she need a courtier? If she only said the word...

Even with her best posture, the top of her head came to the tip of his nose. Standing proud before him, back firm and unafraid, she smoothed her palm toward his backside, all the while keeping eye contact. She could pinch or slap, but no, not her. She grabbed a tuft of fur and arched an eyebrow. Working with nimble fingers, Hilda unwound the lengthy tail from his waist and refused to release him. "Hello, sweetie."

"Hilda." Still, he didn't move.

Her opposite hand reached upward to remove his mask. "You must pardon me, Kuja, for not recognizing you earlier. I've been under extreme duress lately."

Gently, Kuja didn't use force, he unwrapped his tail from her hand and replaced it with his own. "When did you know?"

"I always suspected, but I was never sure until I broke through your barrier." Their fingers intertwined. "Were you spying on me in the palace earlier?"

"I've watched you for some time. I need you back."

"Oh, is that why you wanted me alone?"

"You promised me one night."

Mount Gulug. Her breath disappeared in her throat.


	3. Chapter 3

_Mystic: Sappy sappy sappy sap. _

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><p><strong>Thrice Named<strong>

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><p>Kuja never got the chance to order a small meal. There were many providers of food stuffs in the night market, the majority of the aphrodisiac variety, but Lady Hilda had yet to release her hold on him. So he relented and sat back down, pulling her into his lap. He rested his chin on her (bare) shoulder, her perfume a temptation for the senses. "Does your husband know?"<p>

Lacing their fingers together, she responded, "Know what? That I come here? It was his idea!"

"Truthfully?"

"Kuja, he's dying. He's trying to remove all sense of guilt before he succumbs to judgement." Hilda sipped at her drink, politely offered the rest to her sorcerer. He took it without further provocation. "Remember the girl in the pub?"

"Do I ever." More accurately, Kuja remembered Hilda's tears when he simply asked why she traveled without her husband. Then came the loud sobs and violent anger when she released a torrid of enchantments on a nearby cloud formation. A storm erupted over the sea, too close to the airship; Kuja quickly gave the orders to change course.

Hilda sighed. "She bore a child." A bastard girl with Cid's eyes and nose.

There were no appropriate words to assess the situation. "Oh, dear," was all Kuja thought to say. "And your regent did what, might I ask? Grovel?"

"Literally on his knees. He begged and pleaded so I'd spare my temper. Vowed on his father's grave that she _meant nothing_ and Bahamut-knows-what to avoid being hedgehog pie." Her fingers twitched at the memory, sparked with transmutation chants. A violinist stroked her cheek, calmed her down. "And I would have too, if it hadn't been for Eiko. Or believing you were dead. I finally paid her a small sum to ensure the child wouldn't go hungry ...and to decrease potential scandal."

"In other words, hush money."

"Call it whatever you want, she kept quiet."

Kuja whispered, "tell me again how hard your husband begged." The sorcerer always enjoyed hearing the suffering of others.

Another fit of giggles fell upon the lady. "Enough to completely understand any transgression I might have committed with you."

"So he knows."

"I told him eventually, particularly after the birth of his ... illegitimate child." The word tasted very bitter in her mouth, like the sticky pine sap from the forest. It stuck in the throat and wouldn't leave until someone purged their stomach contents. "At first I was coy because I missed you. I told him that you were a complete gentleman, spoke of nightmares, and filled with hatred."

He kissed her cheek with a flutter of his lips. "Did I give you poor dreams?"

"No, but Cid didn't need to know that. I even told him that you weren't a skirt-chaser like he was."

"Ouch, lady. You like to stick in the knife and twist."

And twist hard in multiple directions. "When Zidane returned from Iifa Tree, Cid asked again. Though I think he was just trying to be funny."

"Did he laugh when you told him?"

"Ha! I rendered him speechless, Kuja. No husband likes to hear that his wife's kidnapper is the better kisser."

Kuja threw his head back in laughter. His arms wrapped around the fae upon his lap, unwilling to ever move. "This tale turns juicier the more you speak. Continue, my lady. Excite me."

"Hm, there's not much left to tell." Her voice grew softer as she leaned into his lithe frame. "When I admitted of our unfulfilled promise, he shrugged it off. Don't you understand, Kuja? That's why he wants me here. He wants me to take a lover, to hire a courtier, so he can die in peace without the remains of his guilt."

The sorcerer had always been gentle with Lady Hilda, always on his best behaviour. Even now while dancers gyrated and cavorted outside, their sanctuary lay hushed in the candlelight glow. A silent violin sat in the corner on a bed of straw, ignored. "And have you?" No jealousy in his question, simple curiosity sparked in his eyes.

"No."

"Why ever not?" he queried, running a hand through her hair. "I've noticed how men stare at you. They'd fall at your feet." A few women might pry at the lady's feet too, but Kuja decided against bringing that idea to fruition. The Lindblum night market welcomed all kinds of patrons, but even the sorcerer found it safer to hide his features during performances. Bounty hunters frequented the area and carried weapons, and Kuja did not feel like summoning Ultima to defend himself.

Hilda faced him then, rested her forehead against his own. "None of them were you." They shared a brief kiss. "Your turn, Kuja. Why are_ you_ here?"

He fidgeted briefly, dropped his gaze not to her curves, but to the floor. "I lack funds."

"You?" Kuja, poor? Broke? The words didn't make any sense. "Kuja, you acquired enough wealth for potential grandchildren to live comfortably."

"Hilda, Gaia believes I died in that tree. My Treno accounts are frozen and I can no longer waltz safely into a treasury."

"Does not this provide income?"

"Not nearly enough for me."

"Oh, of course not. Not with your tastes." Sarcasm dripped off her lips. "Maybe if you gave more private performances?" Another kiss because she missed the feeling when his tongue danced with hers. After their first kiss long ago in the Desert Palace, Hilda concluded his excellent skill and control originated from his excess conversational ability. She never looked at mistletoe the same way again.

"Now, now, lady. You know I don't chase skirts."

Clearly, for a good time he'd hijack an airship and keep the spoils of war. If that included a jaded wife, so be it. "You chased me."

"And I caught you, little fae."

"For a promise?"

"Your other skills intrigue me."

"Which ones?"

Kuja smirked, whispered by her ear. "Speak the man's name three times and he appears to spin straw into gil. Madame, what if I spoke your name three times?"

Goosebumps ran up her arms. "Do it then," she said. "Summon me." Fingers twitched with enchantments.

"Hilda..."

Like the madman.

"Hilda..."

Like the sorcerer.

"Hilda..."

Like the lover she lost.

"Fool, Kuja. Do not underestimate me further." The lady looked over to the violin, more importantly, its bed of straw. All it took was a quaint handful and a brief chant in her native language. Several gold coins with the Lindblum seal appeared in her palm. "I don't need the spinning wheel anymore." Hilda dropped the coins in his hand. "Your payment, sorcerer. Play again for me."

Impressive, yes, but Kuja barely raised an eyebrow. "My dear lady," he grinned like a manic ocean creature. "Never will you be in a position to give me orders. Never." His emphasis gave warning, but not because he wished her harm. If she wished to attempt domination, he'd allow it; even more so the longer she remained on his lap. "Make peace with your dying regent. Tonight, Hilda, you come home with me."

Her laughter was not girlish anymore. "Do I have a say in this?" Fear? What fear?

"You never had a chance."


	4. Chapter 4

_Mystic: Okay, okay. I know that this pairing isn't exactly popular, but can I please have a little feedback? Please? Cut me some slack; I homeschool and I'm out of coffee! (However, I have beer. I write better with a buzz.)_

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><p><strong>Object of My Desire<strong>

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><p>"I still have a daughter to raise."<p>

Kuja sneered. "You don't have a daughter. You have a brat with a horn."

"And right now, I'm the only parent she has."

"Mother needs a break," he said, examining his nails. Despite his powerful spells and enchantments, Kuja's hands were remarkably smooth and free of callouses. "Well, that's what I told her anyway."

Hilda's heart stopped and shattered into dust. "You spoke to her? So you were outside my chambers!"

"I freely admit, lady, that you've done remarkably well raising the girl. She's still a brat, but she's smart."

"Why again were you in my palace?"

"Who is her tutor?"

"I am, but Kuja-."

He shrugged. "Oh, I guess that explains her new intelligence."

"Kuja!"

"When did you ever get it in your head that raising your voice to me was permitted?" The sorcerer shot her a pointed glare, then returned his attention to his nails. "I didn't speak to the brat with words; I entered her mind and toyed with her thoughts."

Mind manipulation. Why did the revelation not surprise the fae? Kuja spent most of his spare time studying time-worn books with carefully drawn models of the brain. (Hilda glanced once or twice at the spellbooks, but never sought to master the technique.) "Kuja, if you can master an enchantment simply by reading a tome, then surely you can learn how to spin straw into gil without my help. It's not a fae-specific chant." Yes, it stoked his ego, but unfortunately, her statement was truth.

"Actually, I cannot."

"I have multiple books to give you." Arguing with the madman in the codpiece. Yes, that was always successful in days past. Always and forever.

"My lady, " he said, voice in that clear tone of_ great-I-have-to-spell-it-out,_ "I do not own, nor can I operate, a spinning wheel."

Oh. Her grin turned massive and wide. "Once again, I don't need one, Kuja."

"Which is why I need you back."

Oh.

Damn, that backfired.

"What of my husband?"

Months of living with the sorcerer proved valuable to the lady. She learned to recognize his mannerisms, his expressions, and his taste in fashion. (Flamboyant was very much an understatement.) As of now, at the mention of her dying spouse, Kuja clearly could care less because Regent Cid was useless. Still, the sorcerer responded with another shrug of his shoulders. "He believes you're visiting family because again, mommy needs a break."

Kuja's mocking tone of voice left much to be desired. Even if Hilda didn't want to admit in court, her former warden did make a valiant point. Lately in her state of life, the lady of Lindblum had been caregiver, mother, teacher, nurse, cook, politician... oh dear Bahamut, she needed a vacation. A long one. With ale.

Why was it that a mage in minimal clothes always showed up when she secretly needed to get away the most? And she never had to speak his name three times. Maybe under certain provocation she'd _moan_ it, but -

No, no ale. Nopity, nopity, nope.

Hilda looked at her empty drink glass and sighed miserably, dropping her hands. "Alright, sorcerer. Take me away from this place."

"Marvelous! We shall leave right after I visit a few shoppes."

Not that she shouldn't be surprised at his words, but it brought fear to her soul whenever Kuja desired to go shopping.

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><p>"My lady, my lady! Yooohoooo!" came a shrill, happy voice.<p>

Oh, dear gods. Not now. "Good evening, Waylan," she responded. Her escort stifled a laugh.

The mages stood outside the specific shoppe that catered to desperate housewives and fornicating teenagers. Its middle-aged owner bounced on his heels in excitement, clapped his hands together. "My, my, if it isn't my favorite fae! And oh? Who is that handsome devil on your arm? You sir, are a tall glass of water."

Kuja stopped laughing. He mentally cursed himself for choosing the half-mask with feathers.

This particular shopkeep valued beauty almost as much as the former madman. (Well, maybe not too former...) The owner's hair, slicked back with pomade, was dyed an unnatural blond hue, but the shade worked well for the man's complexion. A healthy, yet very faux tan hid obvious crow's feet or other such wrinkles. His attire, however, even left Kuja with a shade of green envy. Feather boas were unusually difficult to come by.

"What do you have for me, Waylan?" Hilda grabbed Kuja by the hand and dragged him inside the shoppe. He still didn't smile. A myriad of items lay organized in glass cases, separated by color, size, and single or double-pronged. There was gold and silver jewelry to the left, but the sorcerer wasn't entirely sure what they were meant to pierce. He much preferred the articles of clothing hanging on the racks. The lace, the see-though, the leather. Hilda would look nice in the leather.

Waylan, a quite proper purveyor of all things phallic, kissed the lady on each cheek. "Your special package has arrived, you daring thing. Come, come; I must show you its magnificence." He led her to the back of the shoppe. "With this purchase, madame, you are entitled to a free gift of your choosing. Perhaps you'd be interested in something for that courtier of yours?"

"Oh, no. He's not -"

Kuja held up a pair of black heels. "My lady, are these your size?"

"Those come with free fishnets," Waylan said.

Never again would Lady Hilda giggle at phallic shape objects. She blamed herself for this predicament. In his hands, Waylan held a rectangular box made of the finest velvet. Inside the box, much to the lady's delight, was a silicone-based object in a very dark color. And yes, double-pronged because she was that desperate and troubled. Kuja grinned madly. "Well, well," he said. "If I had known your base desires, I'd have offered you my services much sooner."

Hilda couldn't slap him or set him on fire for two reasons. One: there were witnesses. Two: Kuja's immunity to such spells. So instead, she glared. She glared and silently vowed revenge. Giving a polite smile, she said to Waylan, "You mentioned a free gift?"

"Oh, yes. Only the best for my favorite fae."

Given her phallic, base desires, the lady wandered over to the jewelry section. "Tell me about these, sir."

"Crafted by the finest jewelers in Treno. Made specifically for the adventurous gentleman."

Kuja froze.

"They cannot be real piercings," Hilda said.

Waylan shook his head. "Dear me, no. These are for show, for fun. They clip on the underside or the tip. Whichever my lady prefers." He waggled his eyebrows in Kuja's direction. "Would your courtier be interested?"

Her smile _looked_ innocent as she batted her eyes toward the sorcerer, but her mind's residence headed straight toward the gutter. "I'll take this set, please. The one with the little spikes."

"Absolutely, madame. Right away."

As for Kuja, the black heels and fishnets no longer seemed adventurous.


	5. Chapter 5

_Mystic: So I had to poke around in one of my husband's favorite animes for inspiration. Teeheeheehee._

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><p><strong>The Wonderwall<strong>

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><p>Her stomach growled. All throughout the night market, cafes and small restaurants peddled hot dishes and sweet treats shaped liked body parts. Fruit dipped in dark chocolate was an occasional treat of hers back in the palace, but that didn't mean she wanted to nosh on a melon carved like a set of lips. (And not the ones on the face either.) Kuja currently eyed a set of pastries topped with a cherry. "Shall we stop for a bite, sorcerer? My treat."<p>

"Hmph," he said, but with a smile. "I have enough to buy you a meal, Hilda, but I'd rather dine privately. I grow tired of hiding myself behind this mask."

"Where do you go?"

"I've been granted a room, if you'd join me."

She returned his smile. "I have no other choice."

"Good." Kuja took her hand and lightly kissed her knuckles. "And may we no longer hold secrets."

Beneath the stars and twin moons, Hilda glimpsed a flash of silver scales. "Alright, Kuja. You tell me how you survived, and I'll tell you how I saved Lindblum from a recession."

He burst into joyous laughter.

xxx

The night market administrators took good care of their performers. As a contracted musician, Kuja was entitled to a small salary and temporary residence in one of the city's many inns. Wandering patrons whispered amongst themselves when their first lady entered the private quarters of the masked violinist. Let them talk; she felt no shame. Excitement and slight fear was another matter.

Then her heart sank into a puddle at her feet. Across from the queen-sized bed and opposite the one night stand, stood the secret to Kuja's longevity. "Kuja," she said. "How could you?" Her voice cracked, wrought with worry. There lay the skull atop a pentagram, shadowed with candles and blessed salt. "Arcana, Kuja. Why would you risk Arcana?"

He opened a bottle of wine. "I lack fluency in your mother tongue."

"Arcane enchantments!"

"Try again."

She huffed. "The dark arts."

"Ah, yes," he said with a small shrug. "It was either that or die. Excuse me for taking a risk."

Legends spoke dire warnings to those who played with fire. Black magery did not equate to the dark arts of centuries old necromancy. Her sorcerer signed a contract, risked what part of a soul he had left, all to live another day. He spat once more in the face of his creator. "Is this how you lived, Kuja? Won against Garland?" Hilda stroked his face, not at all like a lover. "There must be a balance -"

"Don't preach, lady. I know the danger." Kuja took her hand, stared at his enchanter's circle. "To balance the arcane, one must use the sacred."

"You never were the prayerful type."

"My sacred is not that of white mages." A kiss, a smile, a caress. Beauty against the Beast. "And Garland can rot with Ifrit. I hope he shattered every bone in his body." At his words, the candles flickered. "As for what I call sacred, others might call a dream. I dreampt of simpler days, of simpler _ways._ When one reads the ancient tomes of warlocks or even the necromancers, those great men never lived alone."

Lady Hilda again reverted to her native tongue. She spoke it without critical thought. One word, a single word. Kuja had carved it on the underside of the skull. "That word, my lady, I know well."

The fae softened her gaze, dropped the worry. "I taught it to you." Beneath the skull and surrounded by melted wax, a portrait sat in reverence. It was drawn in charcoal, infused with spells, and made by a sorcerer's hand.

Kuja drew her into his arms. "After all, Hilda, you are my wonderwall."

Wonderwall: Fae term for the beloved, the sacred. "Kuja," she breathed, but she couldn't finish her thought. His interruption was a kiss, deep and of wont. Her object of purchase wondered why it sat ignored. Its owner was lost in a sea of silver and soft skin. Running her fingers through his hair, letting him grip her waist, all while she played with the buttons of his shirt. Her promise yelled loud and clear.

"A night together, Kuja," she had said long ago. "Just give me one night."

In the dark recesses of his library, was a shelf with a collection of books meant for mature adults in the evening hours. Many were stories of love, explicit love, bedtime stories for a husband and his new bride. The pages spoke sweetly of the tender embraces between a man and woman, and Lady Hilda deeply regretted not taking a few of the books for her own pleasure. One was written in Kuja's hand, an instruction manual of sorts, translated from a High Terran Sutra. No sorcerer or sorceress ever lived without a companion.

The mage was not meant to live in solitude.

"Show me," Hilda said, voice shaking. "You're marked in the dark arts. Show me, Kuja." She had reason for plying at his shirt, not the least involving his bare chest and stomach. Nope. (Funny how she kept thinking about that.)

They were beside the bed and his eyes blazed. "Not yet, Hilda. Your turn."

Not just her purchase, their food was ignored too. It was chocolate, fruit, and savory little pies. "That's not fair."

"Though I am the greatest mage to grace this planet, no one else trans-mutates like you."

"Did you just give a compliment?"

Kuja straightened his shirt, much to her disappointment. "You've surpassed that funny little man from the storybooks."

"No, I haven't."

"Hilda."

She scoffed. "It's the same spell, Kuja. I simply adapted it to my use." He quirked an eyebrow, and she chuckled. "Oh, fine. As I said, it's not exclusively fae, but we did write down the known rules." If not first written in lost journal pages from a scatterbrained monk with a long beard anyway. Fae Folk were talented historians.

"The Terrans cataloged spells centuries ago."

"To obtain, sorcerer, something must be lost. To trans-mutate, one must offer sacrifice of equal value. That is the Fae Law of Equivalent Exchange." Written by an anonymous youth who once lost his physical form in spell casting gone wrong.

He reached again for the bottle of wine. "That sounds like alchemy."

"Ta-da."

"You practice alchemy?"

"In a way, yes."

Her words gave him pause. Alchemy was child's play, the polar opposite of the dark arts, yet even the great warlocks of antiquity mastered the combination of raw materials to new items. Over the years, the learned men and women carved intricate amulets to hold the atoms of sacrifice, gemstones to replace what resembled the enchanter's circle. Even the summoner tribe took influence when they trapped their deities inside crystals.

Kuja ordered, "Reveal your amulet."

Lady Hilda began to laugh, a sultry and deep laugh accompanied by a smile worthy of the devil that once danced on her shoulder. "Unlace my corset."

Their food turned cold and the wine lost its sparkle.


	6. Chapter 6

_Mystic: Hey, look! I'm ripping off from outside media again! _

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><p><strong>Of Monsters and Men<strong>

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><p>A quaint inn at a night market was not the ideal room for Kuja to receive a fulfilled promise. Yes, it was cozy, and yes, it was clean, but it was not the Desert Palace where he and Hilda first shared an embrace. There wasn't even a hearth for a proper fire, but far be it from him to deny the lady as she stood with her back to him, moving her hair from her shoulders. His fingers twitched, flexed.<p>

"Well?" she queried. "You wish to see the origins of my power." Goosebumps ran up her arms when silently, quickly, Kuja stood behind her, his arms around her middle. His sage incense mixed with her perfume and for a moment, the lady forgot how to breathe.

Lips close to her ear, he whispered, "Cease with the teasing, Hilda. I missed you too much for that."

"I missed playing with your hair."

"My hair? That's what you missed?"

Give her some of that hair, that long beautiful hair. She reached back and buried her fingers through his locks. "I used to daydream about it whenever you talked a lot."

"I dreampt of you many a time, lady, but never about your hair, lovely as it is." Abruptly, yet smoothly, his hands moved to the laces of her corset. The garment loosened, allowing her to breathe deeply for the first time since the evening began. Kuja's fingers were warm, deft, but still gave the fae chills as he exposed her back. At the base above her tailbone came a strong aura of condensed enchantments. "My lady..."

She smiled coyly. "Do you like it?"

He ran his palm over the ink etched in the small of her back, admired the archaic design. "This is not ink from Gaia."

"It is not."

A pentagram, smaller than that from his dark arts. "... Are you the raw material?"

"I am."

"And you dare question my decision to practice arcana?"

"The sacrifice originates from me. That is how I trans-mutate."

Kuja leaned back on his heels. "My lady," he said cautiously, afraid of the answer. "How many years do you have remaining?"

Hilda took the opportunity to re-arrange her clothes, facing toward him. "I'm unsure. I'm the first fae to have this done."

"How long ago?"

"Before Cid. One of our elders believes I'm in a form of stasis."

"Which elder?"

"My grandfather."

Crotchety, grumpy, perpetually ill-tempered. Kuja heard plenty of stories of that particular fae gentleman; one of which claimed that he was the son of an incubus who preyed upon women asleep in their bed. Hilda never commented. "Do you not understand, lady? This is yet one more reason why you must remain with me. Make the best with what you have, and I am the best there is."

"Hmph," she huffed. "The Dark One said something similar before his fall from grace."

"The Dark One? Do elaborate."

"Mm, that funny imp who spun straw into gil. He was never a sorcerer of good morals." Much like the sorcerer who stood before her and once destroyed an entire world. The Dark One himself most likely clapped and laughed giddily at the results. "You realize he once allied himself with the Queens of Darkness?"

It was when Lady Hilda smiled that Kuja understood the hesitance with arcana. Her smile was nothing like an innocent maiden whose life was spared by the prince, or an impending widow with a regency to control by herself. Madness came with mayhem. "That's a fairy tale."

"Are you so sure?"

Kuja sneered. "The Queens of Darkness exist only in the imaginations of boorish housewives under the authority of ruthless husbands. Female empowerment and all that."

"Again, Kuja. Are you so sure?"

His books mentioned remarkable sorceresses, women who healed with potions and quiet chants. There were witches who paid with their lives for the ability to fly and conjure a deadly curse. There were fae crones who earned the rank of godmother because of their wisdom and spells from the earth. The supposed Queens of Darkness surpassed them all.

One ruled the oceans, balanced her love of sea life with her hatred for humankind. Yet another lived among the humans, but preferred the company of the animal world with whom she had special affection and persuasion. (She adored spotted puppies, of all things.) A third harnessed the power of the grand dragons after a brutal betrayal by her own fae kind. There might have been one more, a witch with a passion for poisoned fruit, but her stories ended very openly and without climax.

"Well?" queried Hilda with a smirk.

Kuja answered, "I believe you're hiding something, Hilda."

She rolled her eyes. "Kuja, pretty boy, try to keep up."

"Pretty boy?"

"How do you think I grew so powerful?" The lady leaned in close, held her lips by his ear. "Not all of my instructors were matronly crones. I've showed you the source of my chants, pretty boy. It's your turn; reveal what the dark arts have to done to you and perhaps I'll show you mercy." Knowing full well the intention, she let part of her gown slip off her shoulders. "I know where the Dark One lies buried."

Lady Hilda, clever and witty, never learned her lesson. Kuja grabbed her about the waist, silenced her not with his hand, but with a chant. A soft bed beckoned to him, cried out for proper use, and he pushed her down. Hovering his sneer before her wide, frightful eyes, the sorcerer began to laugh. "Do you forget who you are speaking to, Hilda? That Dark One of yours may be in the ground, but I yet live. My mercy is fleeting, lady. I can chain you in my palace, and let your regent die alone without resolution. That summoner brat can be an orphan without direction. Do not _ever_ believe that you can have the upper hand."

His long fingers grazed her throat, then smoothed downward at her bodice. His eyes flared with unquenchable fire.

The prey smirked, smiled through the fear pulsing through her veins. All of her chants were locked and unattainable thanks to Kuja's Silence; her usual immunity to such annoyances was rendered void. The Arcana he practiced increased his abilities for sure, and when the fae looked through his eyes and into his very soul, she saw the markings the dark arts left behind. Kuja's heart, already the opposite of light, was painted macabre black. As he hovered above her, pinned her tightly to the mattress, she saw the new beast within.

Excitement quickly chased fear through a torch-lit tunnel, set it ablaze, reduced it to ashes. All the fae could do was breathe and hope the sorcerer was thorough.

He kissed her lightly, her lips, her throat, paused at her ear to murmur a warning. "This Silence of mine can be broken," he said. "But only, dear lady, when you moan."

None of her spellbooks prepared her for what he did next. They dealt with enchantments and herbal potions, taught how to surround one's aura with fire, but not what to do when a practitioner of the arcana ripped open an expensive gown and marked flesh with his teeth. That High Terran Sutra, however, spoke exactly what to do when in such a situation and thankfully, Lady Hilda memorized every word.

All fifty chapters of it in various shades of explicitness.


End file.
